The Anguish of the Butterfly
by Almaloney33
Summary: Blair wants to be a powerful woman, and Chuck can't be her friend right now..as much as he wishes he could. But when Chuck finds himself at the brink of a crisis and Blair finds herself lost...can they find their way back to each other? Can they build their futures together? AU from 4x17
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Gossip Girl, its original characters or dialogue. After the train wreck of Season 5, I don't know anyone in their right mind who would claim otherwise.

 **Author's Note:** This is dedicated to my beta and literary labour coach, scarlett2u. If you've somehow stumbled upon this story, close out of it immediately and go and read her fics. You'll laugh, cry, blush, sigh, squeal and swoon. Promise. She's an inspiration and a wonderful friend.

For those guests that read my first piece, Through the Looking Glass, thank you for your kind response and interest in seeing it continue. I have left it open-ended for now and may come back to it at a later date. In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy my latest offering.

* * *

Chuck. Blair. Chuck and Blair. It was practically Pavlovian at this point. Let's review, shall we?

Three years ago, Blair slid across 12 inches of black leather and pressed her lips to his. Chuck's world spun off its axis. He reached for her and there she was (in his lap and then just, well, _everywhere_ ).

Two years ago Bart Bass died. Chuck's world spun off its axis. He reached for her and there she was.

Tonight, he learned his father was not only a soulless reptile but a murderer as well. Chuck's world spun off its axis.

So the only thing left to do was reach for Blair.

And there she...wasn't. At least, she wasn't answering her phone.

The limo was still making its way from the Upper West Side to the Waldorf penthouse and the continual frenzied motion of Chuck's bouncing knee wasn't speeding their passage or making it any more enjoyable. But like the pressure building behind his eyes, it showed no sign of abating. The cavernous confines of the limo was a sacred place for him - a place where he reminisced, reflected and regrouped. _Alone_. Serena's perfume and presence was making this impossible but she was also his scheme-free ticket to Blair's residence and, with Blair's phone going straight to voicemail, he had the sinking feeling he was going to need it.

He sighed as he lowered the phone from his ear for the eighth time since they'd left the Empire. "She's not answering her phone. You?"

"No. And I've tried texting her. Nothing."

His brow furrowed as he surveyed the traffic around them. "Is something going on with her?"

"No," she began tentatively. "I mean, since she was fired from W - "

"What?! _Why_?"

It was Serena's turn to sigh now. "Everything was going well, I think. Epperly even appointed Blair as her replacement. But..." she trailed off, suddenly taking an interest in her manicure.

" _Serena_."

"She'll kill me!"

" _I'll_ kill you. I know a guy." And he fixed her with his steeliest glare.

It wasn't the chilling possibility that Chuck might, in fact, 'know a guy' that saw Serena's resolve crumbling. It was the genuine concern for Blair that was written all over his face. They were idiots, the pair of them! She would roll her eyes if she weren't already dizzy from watching them dance around each other for the past four(teen) years. So, instead, she worried her lip with her teeth one final time before releasing it along with the truth.

"When she found out your feelings for Raina were...real...Chuck, she was...she didn't take it well. It didn't help that Raina is already the powerful woman Blair's trying to become. And you know Blair..she went into overdrive...she wasn't sleeping, barely eating. I think she was trying to..she just wanted..." Serena trailed off, gesturing helplessly. Who knew _what_ Blair wanted?

"To find her way back to me," he breathed, his head falling back against the black leather.

 _Oh. Chuck did._

Serena nodded but Chuck's eyes were already closed, his hands fisted on the tops of his thighs. He may as well have hung a 'Do Not Disturb' sign around his neck. Serena had never really understood Chuck and she was fairly certain she wasn't alone in that respect. His defenses were impenetrable and that was when all was right with his world so she knew any further attempts at prying were futile. It was moments like these when she was forced to acknowledge the strange and unique bond between her best friend and her brother. They were a matched pair.

If only they could get out of their own way.

* * *

Blair. Chuck. Blair and Chuck. It was practically Pavlovian at this point. Let's review, shall we?

Blair kissed Nate (again). It felt all wrong. She longed for Chuck.

Blair kissed Marcus. It felt all wrong. She longed for Chuck.

Blair kissed Nate (third time's a charm?) Nope, _still_ wrong. She longed for Chuck.

Blair kissed Dan (or, rather, _he_ kissed _her_ ). It felt _so_ wrong. And now she...

Longed for Chuck.

It had been 42 minutes since Dan had left without a word. 42 minutes since she had stood in her foyer with her hand pressed to her stomach, waiting for it.

But _it_ never came.

Nope, nothing. Not one single, solitary flap or flutter. Not a butterfly to be found anywhere. But plenty of bugs, apparently - her skin had felt as though it was practically crawling with them. So she'd sighed and made her way up the staircase, her head and heart feeling heavier with each footfall.

And therein lay the problem. Head and heart. Mere inches separated the two and yet the distance between them seemed unfathomable at times.

Her stupid, traitorous heart! She had managed to function perfectly well without it for over sixteen years. Like all her minions, her heart had been loyal to a fault, willing to go along with each and every one of the grand plans she'd devised for her life. It twisted in her chest when Serena fled without a word, cried out when her father left for France. They were mere whimpers, though, compared to what lay ahead. She should have known better, should have sensed the impending mutiny. Because, like all her minions, ignored and overlooked for too long, her heart had found its own voice and staged an almighty uprising. And Blair had never seen it coming.

With the sort of predatory stealth only he was capable of, Chuck had crept beneath her defenses and reached out to claim her heart for his own. She'd felt his fingers closing around it before Cotillion and when she'd unearthed his scheme on the dance floor, she had wrenched it free, relieved to have escaped relatively unscathed. Like her skin, though, Chuck's elegant fingers had left their indelible impression on her heart and it began to whine in protest, beating thunderously in her chest and demanding to be heard.

She had tried everything to silence it. Nate. Marcus. Nate again. To no avail. And just when she'd resigned herself to the dull ache in her chest, there he was again - leaning against his limo, fingers clutching gifts from far off lands, his own heart tumbling from his mouth. Her heart had soared in response, taken flight and welcomed him with open arms. Relief. She felt relief.

All the gossip and the lies and the hurt hadn't been for something, it had been for _everything_. Because theirs was a great love. It was complicated, intense, all-consuming. And no matter what they did or how much they fought it would always pull them in. Until it pulled them under.

Because Chuck and Blair held hands. And Chuck and Blair...made movies. And Chuck and Blair loved each other. But Chuck and Blair also loved to play. Full of mischief, they hand-selected their prey, then baited the trap before celebrating their victory tangled together on leather seats and between the sheets. But as summer faded and the leaves changed, so too did the nature of their games. The rules were undefined, the stakes too high, and the players unwilling. Until the final game where they risked it all and both lost everything. The King exiled and the Queen abdicated.

But that dull ache Blair had once felt was nothing compared to the gaping wound that was left when she had tried to forcibly remove him from her heart. Storming the shops, consuming the classics, sampling sugary snacks like Marie Antoinette...even a date with a real-life prince had done nothing to stanch the flow of blood. She told Serena there was a Chuck-sized cloud over her head, but it was the Chuck-sized hole in her heart that left her whole body hurting.

Her stupid, traitorous heart! It had found its voice three years ago and now it refused to shut up. Doomed games with evil uncles and resurrected mothers, charades with aliases and sweet distractions, declarations of war then peace, hateful music played atop a piano...throughout it all her battle-scarred, voyage-worn heart beat the same steady rhythm, sung the only tune and words it had ever known: I love Chuck Bass. Always have. Always will.

But her heart wasn't the only one with a song to sing. Blair had, of course, done the polite thing and pretended not to hear those three one-syllable words that, under the circumstances, he may or may not have meant. But he had meant them. With all his heart. Because people may bark and scream out for God and their mothers during sex, but Chuck Bass was no 'blurter'. Dressed in red, two devils stood on the cusp of redemption - hope had blossomed before them, the promise of a new beginning finally within their grasp. But Chuck's words when the curtain fell were heartbreakingly prophetic. Because, minutes later, they had indeed gone up in flames.

Anne Archibald was the first to stoke the fire.

Then KC poured gasoline on the blaze.

And their words had echoed in Blair's ears until the song in her heart was reduced to the faint murmur of butterfly wings. Her head had dutifully taken charge, reminding her of all she stood to lose if she followed her heart once more. She would not be a weak, sniveling stand-by-your-man who never runs a foundation or anything else. So she'd put on her big-girl boots, stomped over her heart (and his) and walked away...

To become a powerful woman.

To fall flat on her face.

To kiss _Dan Humphrey_?

She had walked away, certain that she had to be Blair Waldorf before she could be Chuck Bass' girlfriend.

And now she was...neither.

Because each step away from Chuck seemed to correspond with another step away from herself.

Her internship at W had been an unmitigated disaster. She had thrown herself into the task with her patented vigor and ruthlessness. But she had been all aim and no focus, all strut and no substance. Her race to climb the ladder of success had left her dazed and disoriented. So disoriented that she had kissed Humphrey.

She had obviously taken a wrong turn somewhere and she was beginning to suspect it had been when she'd walked away from Chuck. She was supposed to find herself but she was more lost than ever. In fact, she had never felt less like herself than she did without him.

Perhaps Chuck had been right. Perhaps they could build their futures together. Hadn't Chuck matured past games and fatwas? Aren't powerful women supposed to have it all? And if Chuck was destined to be her prince, why kiss any more toads?

These were all excellent questions, she thought to herself as she finished applying La Mer cream to her delicate eye area. She simply needed time to thoroughly process recent events and decide on the proper course of action. A few days of uninterrupted rest and rumination. And with that she reached into her drawer and fished out her brass bell.

She was taking to her bed, starting now.

She slipped between the cool sheets and was reaching to turn off her lamp when -

"Blair! It's me...please, I need to talk to you," he urged, knocking softly on the door.

 _Oh, no_.

"Blair? Please...it's important."

 _No, no, no, no, no_.

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear

* * *

AN: Coming up next...I'll attempt to dig inside Chuck's devilish mind, a quick chat between Blair and Serena, and a little flashback. I hope you'll join me for that, but, more importantly, I hope you'll share your thoughts on Chapter 1.

And again, special thanks to scarlett2u - she pushed me down the stairs but was there to catch me. Also, Shrk22 for your encouragement and kind words.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Gossip Girl or any of its original characters or dialogue.

 **Author's Note:** My abject apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I don't even have a reasonalbe explanation/excuse...you have my solemn promise that I will do my very best to ensure that there is no longer than two weeks between updates.

Again, this is dedicated to scarlett2u. She's a gem, a marvel, and a woman after my Chair-shipping heart! Do go and read her fics if you haven't.

I must make special mention again of shrk22 - another gem in the fandom. She has the patience of a saint and I could chat to her about Chuck all the livelong day!

* * *

Therere was no response but he could sense that she was there on the other side of the door. He slid down to the floor and loosened his tie, cursing the piece of wood that separated him from his lifeline. His eyes trailed over the banister of the stairs he'd climbed a thousand times before - his feet always led him here in his hour of need. His heart always knew the way home.

No one was more surprised and ashamed than Chuck to discover he actually had a heart.

Because love was nothing but a fanciful notion invented by long dead poets, a fantasy peddled to women who collected ceramic cats. Love was for those in the outer boroughs, plebeians who scrounged around for something to build their lives on. And his heart was nothing more than a box of atrophied muscle and decaying tissue, its sole function to pump blood to the only part of his anatomy that served any real purpose.

Chuck Bass had it all figured out very early in life and he was smug with the knowledge. New York might be a magical city, but he had seen behind the curtain. There was no great mystery to life, no higher purpose or deeper meaning. And the pursuit of happiness? It was over in the time it took to place a call to his dealer or Kim and Kristy from Room Service. There was only money and the pleasures money brings. And, as the wealthiest teen in New York, Chuck had sampled every pleasure available.

If there was any feeling Chuck was actually familiar with it was boredom. At sixteen years of age, he had seen and done it all. On every continent. Whether it was Tuesday or a Lost Weekend, every night ended the same - scotch and one or two half-naked women selected at random to join him in his suite. And the next morning he awoke and made plans to do it all again.

But man plans and God laughs, as they say. And the joke was on him.

Because one night the half-naked woman was Blair. He thought he understood desire and lust until he saw her on that stage. He thought he understood need until her lips pressed against his and she was in his arms. And suddenly the boy who had everything figured out knew nothing at all. The boy who demanded variety in the women he bedded craved only her. The boy who thought that nothing was real could no longer deny the way his heart slammed against the walls of his chest in time with the beating of those winged things in his stomach. The boy who didn't do feelings suddenly felt everything. Despite his best efforts.

He had tried to murder the butterflies, only to feel them multiply at an alarming rate. So, like anyone with a G5 at his disposal, he did the only thing he could, the only thing he knew - he ran. Like a Bass out of hell. To Monaco, to Thailand, to Europe. It was in Tuscany, watching the sun rise, that Chuck finally accepted what he had known for a year - he could run and hide all he liked but there was nowhere he could go, no corner of the globe or himself, where she wouldn't catch up with him. He would never escape his feelings for Blair. So he escaped the hell of his own making and went home to find heaven with her.

Giving her those three words, eight letters felt like the most dangerous thing he had ever done. But the moment he did he had never felt safer. Because he'd had her and held her before, but to have and to hold her everyday was everything he never knew he wanted. And then Chuck Bass figured it out all over again. Life with her held a magic all its own and this time he didn't need to look behind the curtain to know the truth. Because Blair was the great mystery. She was the higher purpose. She was the deeper meaning. She was his and he had it all.

Yes, Chuck Bass once had it all.

Then Chuck Bass had a great fall.

All the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Chuck Bass together again.

All that remained was his signature smirk, his signature scotch, and three words, eleven letters.

 _I'm Chuck Bass._

But no one cared.

Without Blair there to pull him from the ledge, Chuck was already dead. A walking corpse, he stumbled through the streets of Prague with nothing but a diamond dream in his pocket. When that was gone, when there was nothing left to hold onto, Chuck let go. Lying there in that grimy alleyway, he absently wondered whether the butterflies would finally find their escape through the bullet hole in his stomach that matched the hole in his heart. But when his life flashed before his eyes, when she flashed before his eyes in all her magnificent glory, he knew they would die with him.

Searing pain and hands that weren't hers on his skin. Hell it is then, Chuck had thought to himself. Not that he'd imagined Saint Peter would be waiting to greet him at the Pearly Gates. In fact, he had half expected to open his eyes and look into those of his father. Instead, it was Eva's blue eyes that stared into his. Her voice beckoned him, dragged him into consciousness. _Who are you? What's your name?_ Chuck Bass was no longer an option. Without Blair, Chuck Bass was an effigy, a caricature, a ghost. So he'd slipped off his signet ring and slipped into Henry Prince. Refused to think about how she hated _Charade_ as he prepared for the biggest performance of his life.

And some days he almost managed to convince himself. He was grateful to Eva. Not because she had saved his life - it had hardly been worth saving. But she made it almost possible for him to forget. Every single thing about her was poles apart from Blair. There were no flashes of mercury and mischief in her eyes, no fire burning below. She was sweet, trusting, utterly guileless and simply...there. Like the cane he used to aid his faltering gait, Eva was something solid to lean on, something to hold onto when his dreams left him shaking and breathless in the night, every night. Because each time he closed his eyes, Blair was there, refusing to let him go. And if it wasn't torturous enough that she hunted him, haunted him in his dreams, she had to hunt him down at Gare du Nord, too.

Resplendent in red, she stood before him, somehow more breathtakingly beautiful than he'd remembered. He had cursed himself when he felt his breath catch and hope flare in his chest. But the devil always appears as a vision of hope and salvation before she whispers mellifluous nothings and condemns mere mortals to the fiery pits of hell. And in the next moment she handed him her ring but walked away with his heart still clutched in her dainty fingers. Toppled the house of cards he had so painstakingly assembled with the turn of her heels.

Because maybe it wasn't her world without him in it, but Chuck was smart enough to know that he could no longer survive in that world without _her_. And Eva could not survive in a world where Blair was the centre, the force that would always pull him to her side. And Chuck was at her side before Eva had even finished packing. Blair had told him he wouldn't be lonely in hell and Chuck intended to make good on that promise. If it wasn't jealousy and love that had driven her actions, then Chuck had plenty of hate to go around as well.

But no lie can live forever. And the moment he uttered those three little (enormous) words he saw them for what they were - the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help him God. Oh, he had hated her. Hated her for making him desperate, hated her for being right, hated her for making him ache with need and longing, hated her for leaving him alone in love. But not as much as he hated himself for destroying what they had, destroying the only real happiness he had ever known.

Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him, then, that with everything he had learned about his father tonight it was Blair's face that appeared unbidden in his mind. After all, when faced with the lies we've been told, the lies we've believed our whole lives, it's only natural to seek the truth. And that's what Blair was. She was the truth, his only truth.

If Eva was farce, Raina was folly. And he should have known it the moment he needed Blair's assistance to form any kind of meaningful connection with her. With Eva and Raina he knew all the words, but he could never hear the music. No one could ever measure up to what they had and trying to recreate his feelings for Blair with other women was a fool's errand. There was only Blair.

And Bart.

Ironic, really, that the man who had never once held him while alive had such a relentless stranglehold on him in death. Chuck had been so determined to prove his father wrong, to escape his shadow, only to find himself following his footsteps more closely than ever. Bart and Blair had become two equal yet opposite forces in his mind. Power and weakness. Legacy and love. He had forsaken one for the other, fighting to protect the legacy of a man he had never known. A man who had lied to him until the day he died.

Everything Chuck had believed about his father, everything he thought he wanted to be, needed to be for him was all based on lies. The only thing that had ever been real was Blair and what they shared. And he needed her more than ever.

* * *

Chamomile tea and mixed berries. Not exactly how Serena envisaged her evening ending. She could now add Ben to her growing list of failed relationships. She was beginning to think it was time to cut her losses in the love game and focus on herself for a while. But there was supposed to be someone out there for everyone, wasn't there? Would she ever find him? Had she already found him?

She was pondering a long, hot bubble bath as she climbed the stairs. Yes, some scented candles and a contemplative soak in the tub would be just the thing to put this evening behind her. As she reached the landing the sight of Chuck slumped outside Blair's door stopped her in her tracks.

"Chuck? Why are you...what are you still doing here?"

"She won't open the door."

"Well, she must be asleep. Just call her in - "

"She hasn't slept with the light on since she was seven," he interjected, motioning to the light streaming from beneath the door. His brow furrowed for a moment before he continued. "Unless there's a storm."

Serena stood frozen before him for a long moment. Blair liked to have the final word on these matters...and it was her house, her rules, her decision. But the lost and desperate expression on Chuck's face, the wounded look in his eyes, told Serena he was teetering on a ledge. And, as always, Blair was the only who could pull him to safety.

"I'll go through the bathroom. I'll try, Chuck, but I can't promise anything."

* * *

"Serena," Blair hissed as she pushed the blonde back into the bathroom. "What's going on? Why is Chuck here? I don't want to see anyone right now."

"I don't really know. He won't tell me. But he shut down the party, B. It's something about Bart...he said he had to find you, that only you would understand."

"Bart?" she managed to croak, eyes wide.

"B, I think it's serious. I don't think this is one of his games."

Blair bit her lip nervously, her eyes locked with Serena's as she appeared to be weighing her options. "Ok, S. I'll take care of it. I'll see you in the morning."

Serena reached out to squeeze Blair's hand, nodding her agreement and reassurance. Blair took a deep breath before closing the bathroom door behind her. Her mind began reeling with possibilities and worst case scenarios - _Bart was alive! Bart had a love child out there who was coming to stake their claim on Bass Industries! Bart wasn't Chuck's father, which meant Chuck had no claim on Bass Industries!_ She tried to get her breathing under control as she reached for her robe. Her gaze fell to the bed and suddenly it was two years ago, the night of her mother's wedding, the night Chuck fell apart.

 _Chuck's eyes were a kaleidoscope of changing colours, a barometer that Blair had learned to read over time. A rich russet when the cogs of his machiavellian mind began to turn, warm caramel during those moments of quiet affection and intimacy, and hot molasses when Blair would reveal the pale expanse of her neck to his hungry gaze. There wasn't a hue or nuance Blair hadn't seen or deciphered in those eyes of his. So, when she marched into her room, demanding a reason for his presence, it was a new shade in the spectrum that stopped her in her tracks._

 _Copper._

 _Chuck Bass' eyes were two bright copper pennies when they shimmered with tears._

 _Her heart clenched at the sight, and pure instinct propelled her to his side. She wrapped herself around him, clutching him to her with all her might. With all her love. She had given him those three words, eight letters today only to watch him drive away. But here in her bedroom, with his whole world falling apart, Blair knew the time for words was over. If his world was falling apart then she would be his gravity._

 _His hot tears splashed onto her cool skin and she blinked furiously to stop her own from falling. She felt his hand slide up and grasp at her arm as they rocked backwards onto the bed. His whole body began to shake, wracked by silent sobs, and although she was pinned awkwardly beneath him, the only move she made was to clutch him tighter still. She reached up to stroke his hair as she searched for words that might soothe. His name was the only sound capable of forming around the growing lump in her throat -_

 _"Chuck."_

 _Not a question or a plea, but a prayer that became a mantra as she repeated it again and again. And in case there was any doubt, with her body wrapped around his like a vine, her next words sought to banish it._

 _"I'm here."_

 _The words chased each other until they formed a seamless loop, set on repeat._

 _"Chuck. I'm here."_

 _The swell of violins and the rare sound of her mother's laughter whispered into the room, and Blair wondered how endings and beginnings could share the same time and space. She had watched her mother and Cyrus exchange vows, seen their joy as they promised themselves to each other. They made it seem so simple. No games, no cat and mouse, no manipulation or deceit. Just honest declarations of love and the desire to be together. Chuck had knelt before Blair in this very room, grasped her hands as his eyes pleaded with her to understand that he wasn't ready, that they weren't ready. Now, here in her bed, Blair was suddenly terrified that their time, that place in the future they were both waiting for, was over before it had begun._

 _And only a few nights ago that future had seemed closer than ever. She'd seen it in his eyes._

 _Nate's eyes were the cobalt blue of a bright summer's sky. Clouds may have rolled across them during a Lost Weekend or when he and Chuck would disappear during lunch, but that summer's sky was always there with the promise of sunshine and happiness. It was only when her best friend fled to boarding school, and Nate's eyes turned cold that Blair was forced to face the sickening truth. There could be no warmth in the summer sky without the sun. And Serena was the Sun._

 _If Nate's eyes were the summer sky, then Chuck's were the sky at night. They could be cold and blank, the perfect cover for all manner of secrets and sins. They could flash with lightning, warning of storms brewing within, or they could be clear and bright, alive with the magic and brilliance of the stars. As they'd swayed together to the music, their bodies pressed against each other as snow swirled around them, Chuck's eyes had been alight with something so soft, so powerful and enchanting that Blair thought she may have put it there. Maybe she was the Moon. Those three words, eight letters had hummed in her throat and danced on her tongue as her eyes fell to his parted lips. He'd smiled as his hand crept up to cradle her face and Blair knew, just knew, that the words were dancing on his tongue, too. Then Lily and Serena were at their side and Blair watched as the light in his eyes blinked out._

 _Those eyes were behind closed lids now. Blair had managed to roll him onto his side as his tears slowly abated. She was still curved around him, still stroking his arm, still murmuring his name as she pressed her face into the soft hair that curled over his collar. His breathing had evened out and Blair gradually loosened her hold on him, her movements measured as she slowly slipped out of bed._

 _She had no idea how long she had been lying there with him but she had no desire to be anywhere else. So she took only the time necessary to splash water on her face and take a sip from the running faucet before returning to his side._

 _In her brief absence Chuck had rolled onto his other side but his eyes still appeared to be closed as she slipped back into bed. Their knees touched, faces close enough to feel each other's breath. Blair reached out to smooth the hair back from his forehead before placing a soft kiss there, but was startled when she felt Chuck's hand close around her wrist. His touch was gentle as he turned her hand over under his and rested them together in the space between them. Blair's eyes were beginning to close when she felt his finger trace a pattern on her inner wrist. She studied his face for a moment, longing to see his eyes once more before sleep came for them both. And, as if reading her mind, Chuck's eyes opened and locked with hers. She almost smiled with relief. Blair didn't always like what she saw in his eyes but she always saw him. And looking into his eyes now, he was still there. He blinked once before opening his mouth for the first time since she'd found him waiting for her. His voice was hoarse, strangled, as one word escaped his lips._

 _"You."_

 _Their eyes were still locked, and Blair knew that for however long she lived this would always remain the most surreal moment of her life. There was no context, no previous conversation or question that gave meaning to what he said. She understood everything, and knew nothing all at once. Without hesitation or thought, Blair found herself nodding, her mouth opening to form a reply of its own accord._

 _"You."_

 _They stayed staring at each other in this suspended breath, afraid to look away. She silently willed him to stay with her, to not break the connection, but his eyelids began to flutter in the soft prelude to sleep before they finally closed. Blair watched him, watched over him, for as long as her own tired eyes would allow._

 _When she woke a little later, Chuck was facing away from her again._

 _When she woke a little later, Chuck was gone._

And now he was here. Because of Bart. Again. Blair smoothed her hair one final time, took a deep breath and reached out to open the door. Prayed she wouldn't see copper on the other side.

* * *

 **AN** : Thanks so much for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think of this chapter. Next up will be Chuck and Blair alone in a room...just saying. Would love to hear your thoughts/hopes/predictions for that interaction!


	3. Chapter 3

**AN** : Given the lateness of this update, I shall hereby stop making promises with regards to timing. I'm not a writer, ok! And Chuck and Blair are extremely stubborn sometimes, simply refusing to let me speak on their behalf. Anyway, forgive me and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The more things change, the more they stay the same. And it had always been like this, even when they were children.

Quiet relief or breathless anticipation.

Alone together, Blair could peel off her plastic smile and put away her prim and proper posturing. Chuck could slip off his smirk and shrug out of his sneer and snarl. Both blessedly unburdened. Of course, it was never long before talk turned to the destruction of mutual enemies, their eyes aglow and the energy between them vibrating with the giddy thrill of imminent victory.

And when Chuck and Blair finally became ChuckandBlair, surprisingly little changed. Bested by unworthy opponents, they were content to simply while away the afternoon in each other's quiet embrace - licking their wounds (and each other's) and gathering strength to fight another day. Plotting and scheming against others still produced that giddy thrill, but nothing was ever as thrilling as finally laying eyes and hands on each other.

Whether quiet relief or breathless anticipation, Chuck and Blair alone together meant one thing.

Home.

Blair felt her breath catch when she opened the door. Chuck stood frozen before her, his stoic composure nowhere to be seen, a wild and almost panicked expression in his eyes. His lips parted as if to speak or draw breath, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath along with him. Before she could move toward him, before she could even blink, Chuck collapsed against her. Her arms caught him and she stumbled backwards under the unexpected weight. He dug his face into the crook of her neck, his arms tightening around her.

"Blair," he breathed.

Hallowed be her name.

Mere seconds was all it took, was all it ever took for his heart to fall into rhythm with hers, for his airways to expand and flood with the scent of her skin and hair. So he breathed her in as his fingers dug into her shoulders with gratitude. Gratitude for her tiny frame that somehow lent strength to his, for her tiny hands on his back that somehow grounded him. And it wasn't until this very moment that he realized with sudden clarity how dangerously adrift he was without her.

"Chuck?"

His name was a soft and gentle plea, but it was the slight tremor in her voice that interrupted his thoughts. He took another steadying breath before he loosened his hold on her and took a step back. She gazed at him expectantly but he could barely order his thoughts, let alone find his voice. Blair was waiting for him to talk, to explain why he was here, when all he really wanted to do was lie down beside her. Lie down and feel the comforting warmth of her body curved around his, her hot breath against his neck, her arms holding him together. Lie down, close his eyes, and wait for his world to right itself. And for one brief, delirious moment, when she placed her hands on his arms and guided him towards the bed, he thought he could do just that. Instead, she settled him against her pillows before sitting down beside him.

"Chuck," she said, placing her hand over his.

"It's all..." he tilted his head towards the ceiling, taking a breath. "Everything..."

He sat forward, resting his head in his hands as he tried to find the words to explain.

"My father," he began quietly. "He never...I was only ever a disappointment to him. I used to think...I thought that everything I did was to spite him. I could never be what he wanted, never measure up, so I...made sure I failed at everything." He took another shuddering breath, his gaze cast downward. "But all I ever wanted was...I just wanted him to..."

"To see you, to let you see him," Blair finished for him, her hand covering his again. "You wanted him to love you."

His head turned toward her, his wounded eyes meeting her compassionate ones.

"When he died, when he left the company to me...I thought I finally had the chance to...earn his love. Maybe if I was successful, if I achieved all that he did...I could somehow become someone he would respect." His mouth twisted into a grimace as he shook his head. "But it's all been a lie. He lied to me until the day he died. And now..."

"Chuck," Blair ventured again after the silence stretched out between them. "What happened?"

Chuck searched her face for a long moment, his throat rippling with several tight swallows.

"He killed someone."

Blair's eyes widened and her head reared back slightly. Her voice was a choked whisper when she finally found it.

" _What_?"

"My father. He..." Chuck paused, raking his hand through his hair as he started from the beginning. "Two years ago, Humphrey was writing a story about my father and a fire in one of his buildings. It was twenty years ago, but a security guard died. I convinced Humphrey not to go ahead with the piece...told him it would destroy our family. But Russell Thorpe just told me that his wife also died in the fire. And that Bart set it deliberately."

"Chuck...that doesn't...I mean, how do you even know it's true? Russell Thorpe has been trying to destroy Bass Industries."

When he merely sighed in response, Blair began to assume the worst. "He has evidence? Is he blackmailing you?"

"No...not yet, at least. He was. That's why Lily turned herself in tonight. But if it's true...what have I been doing this whole time? What have I been fighting for? The legacy of a murderer?

"I never even knew him," he said in a startled tone, as though struck with the knowledge for the first time. "And now...I don't...I don't know who I am...who I'm supposed to be."

Blair felt her heart clench at his hoarse confession. A thrill of fear had prickled along her spine when he'd fallen into her arms tonight. Chuck was always so graceful, so measured and refined in his movements. To see him stumble, hear his speech so fractured and uneven, was both humbling and strangely empowering. She'd been powerless to stop her father from leaving, helpless under her mother's critical gaze, and hopeless in her quest to secure Nate's affections. But when Chuck let her, Blair was an unstoppable army of one, tirelessly slaying his demons and chasing away the shadows that threatened to engulf him. And now Chuck was fraying at the edges, threatening to unravel at any moment. But, just as she'd caught him earlier tonight, she would break his fall now.

"I do." Her lip quivered and her throat was thick with emotion, but her voice was clear and unwavering. "You're _Chuck Bass_. You're the most powerful and persuasive man I know. You're the smartest man I know. And that has _nothing_ to do with Bart. You've more than earned your place at the helm of Bass Industries. As for his legacy...Chuck, the only thing of real value your father left behind is you."

"Lily..."

"Lily?" her brow furrowed in confusion.

"She said almost the same thing tonight."

"She's your mother. She loves you."

Chuck could only stare at her in wonder. He had never believed in God, but sometimes, just looking at her, he thought he might believe in angels. Blair had responded so quickly, so assuredly. As though there was no doubt in her mind that Lily loved him, that anyone could love him. When all was said and done - the chase and retreat, the war within and without, the betrayal, the tears, the heartache - Blair Waldorf still believed in Chuck Bass. Her unwavering faith in him, the way she loved him so effortlessly, was the most powerful thing he had ever known. _She_ was the most powerful thing he had ever known. That she doubted it, that she couldn't see it, was almost maddening.

"You think you're not powerful."

He didn't realize he had actually voiced his thoughts until he saw Blair stiffen, her eyes suddenly darting away from his. He reached for her hand again.

"What happened with _W_?" he asked gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"I don't want to talk about it," she spat, wrenching her hand away.

"Blair - "

"I was _fired_ , Chuck," she whispered harshly, as though someone might overhear them. "What more is there to say?"

"Then let me help you."

"No," she said with more force than she'd intended. Blair heaved a long sigh before continuing, "I told you, giving me the money to start - "

"I'm not talking about giving you money."

Once again he reached for her hand, this time lacing his fingers determinedly with hers. He had known even as he made the offer that she would never accept. But after finally confronting and admitting their feelings, Chuck had allowed himself to hope they could actually begin anew. They had finally started to move past the pain, to move past the past and into a future where they could be stronger than ever. He would have done anything in that moment, offered her anything, if she would just take that leap with him one more time. Just once more into the fray. But she had walked away, taking his heart and his hope with her.

"You want your own success. I understand that, Blair. But you don't have to do it on your own." He squeezed her hand, waiting for her to look at him before he continued. "I wouldn't even be part of Bass Industries if you hadn't convinced me to read my father's letter, if you didn't believe in me, if Lily hadn't helped me. More than once."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment and she gave him a small smile before ducking her head almost shyly. Chuck watched her briefly before he let his eyes begin to drift around the room.

Until he spied the bell on her nightstand.

His fingers, which had been absently toying with hers, suddenly stilled and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as his mind began to put two and two together.

And came up with five.

They had tortured Dorota mercilessly with that bell during that heady, magical summer together. Holed up in Chuck's suite for days on end, they had finally ventured out for dinner. When the innocent game of footsie had escalated to a public spectacle somewhere during the second course, they had hurriedly left and taken shelter in Chuck's limo. It was a small miracle that their clothes managed to stay on until they reached the Waldorf penthouse, and a small mercy that Eleanor hadn't been there to witness their clothes coming off, a trail of couture marking their path towards Blair's bedroom. Then, with no foreseeable reason to leave, they'd extracted their pound of flesh from Dorota. With each crisp clang of the bell, Dorota would arrive to carry out their bidding - breakfast, dinner, strawberries and whipped cream, fluffing pillows, drawing baths, lighting candles. The ever faithful maid was practically traumatized by the time they finally took their leave. And Chuck and Blair had enjoyed every moment of her discomfort, every scandalized gasp and indignant muttering in her native tongue.

He would have smiled in fond reminiscence but for his knowledge of the bell's more common purpose. When Chuck had pointed out that only frail, helpless women used a bell to call for their maid, Blair had gasped in mock outrage and explained that she only used it when she was really unwell or when "a dire emergency requires my complete and undivided attention." He had immediately recalled the period following her father's departure when Dorota had informed him on two separate occasions that "Miss Blair not accepting visitors. May be days before she join real world again. I tell her you stop by, Mr. Chuck."

Blair hadn't fallen ill.

Which could only mean she was planning to take to her bed.

"Blair?"

The low, dangerous tone of his voice brought her eyes to his. She followed his gaze and felt her stomach drop when it landed on the traitorous object.

"Hmmm?" she affected a nonchalant tone, her doe eyes batting innocently at him.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing! I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped haughtily, refusing to make eye contact.

"The Club Bed bell, Blair?" he asked, his brow arched in challenge. "Tell me why you were going to pull a _Camille_. And I know it's not because - "

"I kissed someone."

Three words, fourteen letters.

Almost inaudible.

But in that moment they were more terrifying than the three words, eight letters that had petrified them both for a year.

Chuck felt his mouth go dry, his heart stop, and his blood run cold.

"We're not together," she continued defiantly. "And you've kissed a lot of people."

Sadly, he couldn't dispute either claim. Chuck closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before asking the question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. One heart-stopping revelation was enough for one night.

"Is that why you wouldn't let me in tonight?" he asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral. "You're...seeing someone?"

"No! Ew!"

Relief flooded through him at the way her whole face seemed to scrunch in distaste.

"Well, not like that," she continued cryptically. "It only happened once and it was a mistake. _Never_ to be repeated."

But Blair had forgotten who she was dealing with if she thought she had successfully evaded the question, and Chuck's eyes boring a hole in the side of her head demanded that she elaborate. She chewed her lip for a moment as she pondered how much she was prepared to give away, how much she could afford to reveal. She thought they would be dealing with _his_ crisis tonight, not hers!

"It was a moment of perspective," she began tentatively, still carefully choosing her words, "...one that may have made me reconsider recent decisions."

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his again. Chuck and Blair had exchanged so many looks over the years - covert, furtive, telling, teasing, murderous, triumphant, remorseful, heated, affectionate, lustful - that they had arrived at a kind of codified privacy. A language without words. So they let their hearts and eyes speak for them.

" _Do you still...?"_

" _Yes.''_

 _"Do you...?"_

" _Yes.''_

They had somehow shifted closer throughout their conversation. Both leaning against the headboard, Blair's feet tucked daintily beneath her, their bodies turned toward each other, their faces only inches apart. Those butterflies that had eluded her hours earlier now floated along the current that flowed between them, the beating of their wings picking up speed as they gazed at each other.

 _She could just..._

Tilt her head ever so slightly, lean in and brush her lips against his.

 _And he could just…._

Tangle his hands in her hair, drawing her closer and closer.

 _Then they would..._

 _Be right back where they started._

"But?" he asked, when he saw the flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

"It won't solve anything," she responded quietly, the regret evident in her tone and expression.

She watched as Chuck's head fell back against the headboard, his eyes closing briefly.

"Being apart isn't solving anything," he finally responded, wishing he didn't sound so much like a petulant child.

"You said we needed to figure things out on our own, that we were just torturing ourselves otherwise," she reminded him gently, before adding, "and we've never been very good at just being friends."

"Just because we can't be friends doesn't mean we aren't," he retorted with her own words.

She rolled her eyes at him fondly and they exchanged a warm smile. But in the next moment, Chuck looked away and exhaled a long sigh.

"I miss you." The wry amusement from moments earlier replaced with quiet solemnity. "I miss...just talking to you."

"I miss that, too," she whispered.

His fingers reached out to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. He let them linger, caressing the silken skin of her jaw. Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and she leaned almost imperceptibly into his warm touch.

The pounding of their hearts and the thrumming of blood in their ears was the only noise, as an almost preternatural silence surrounded them. For two people who claimed to miss talking so much, there was a distinct lack of verbal exchange as the minutes ticked by. Chuck had always preferred to talk _after_ , anyway. But apart from their safe word and a few choice others, there had been very little talk in the weeks they spent hating each other and loving every minute of it. And that pesky little voice in Blair's head kept reminding her that they needed to talk.

"It's the touching that's the problem," she said, once she found her voice again.

Various quips danced on the tip of his tongue, because touching each other was a problem he was only too happy to have. But there was a slight edge to her voice, a wariness that wouldn't ebb. And he knew as well as she did that once they started touching they were both powerless to stop. So powerless that an entire clause had been included in their peace treaty to ensure they didn't so much as shake hands. So powerless that their bodies had trembled with need until their resolve lay in pieces on the floor along with their treaty.

"So, what do you propose?" he drawled. "Reinstating Article Nineteen?" each word doused in sarcasm.

He stifled a groan when he saw Blair's eyes light up, appearing to give serious thought to the idea.

"Who came up with that, anyway?" he asked.

"Serena," she replied, rolling her eyes. "She's annoyingly perceptive once or twice a year."

They shared a knowing smile before slipping into a comfortable and contemplative silence.

"I should go," Chuck said quietly, wearily.

He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the bed, his feet finding the floor. Blair's hand reached out to grasp his jacket sleeve.

"Wait, what are you going to do about Thorpe?"

He sighed as he stood up, swiping a hand over his jaw.

"I'm not sure," he began pensively. "I'll have Andrew Tyler look into it, I guess. I knew Thorpe's agenda was personal, and his story would explain why he's been so hell-bent on destroying Bass Industries. But I have no idea what he plans to do with this information. I just have to...wait for his next move."

Blair nodded before adding, "Well, call me if you need anything."

A smirk escaped across his tired face as he replied in a teasing tone, "And we'll talk?"

But Blair didn't miss the note of dejection behind his words.

"I mean it, Chuck," she said softly, as her fingers found his and squeezed lightly, willing him to believe her. "You're not alone. I'm here for you."

He turned to face her then, softening at the sincerity in her eyes.

"I know," he replied.

He stepped toward her, his fingers slipping around her neck, his thumb resting alongside her jaw. He placed a soft, reverent kiss against her forehead before whispering, "Thank you."

His lips lingered against her skin a beat too long (never long enough), and Blair couldn't stop her hands from sliding up to rest over his chest.

And the two of them stayed like that a beat too long (never long enough) - foreheads resting together, their eyes closed as though in prayer, the pulse under each other's fingertips a soothing lullaby.

It was Chuck who finally broke the spell. He stroked his thumb along her cheekbone one final time before letting his hand slip down to his side. He stepped away, clearing his throat softly.

"Goodnight, Blair."

"Goodnight, Chuck."

They shared a warm, lingering smile before he walked away, closing the door behind him.

Blair remained where she stood, one hand cinching her robe together, the other resting over her heart. When the sound of Chuck's retreating footsteps finally faded, she moved toward her bed once again and pulled back the duvet. She was just about to slip beneath the covers for the second time that night when she paused in deliberation. Then, in one determined movement, she grabbed the brass bell and deposited it in the bedside drawer.

Blair secured her sleep mask around her eyes as she nestled further into the pillows. Perhaps she was exhausted or perhaps it was Chuck's scent - that intoxicating combination of scotch and soap and leather and... _him_ \- that lingered on her sheets, but sleep came swiftly and sweetly just moments later. Her lips remained curved in a serene smile as the night ushered in the dawn of a new day.

* * *

ÄN: I was so excited to sit down and write this chapter...until I actually had to write it. I'm very nervous to hear what you thought but please do share your thoughts in a review.

Special thanks to purplebowties and shrk22 for their support and encouragement.

And scarlett2u, of course, for being such a brilliant beta and friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN** : Hi there...remember me? I know, I know, it's been a ridiculously long time. You probably don't even remember what's happening in this story and will have to re-read the previous chapters. Please accept this chapter (my longest yet) as a Limoversary gift. Happy Limoversary all you Chair lovers!

Special thanks to scarlett2u for being a brilliant beta and fantastic source of encouragement and inspiration. It's not a lie when I say none of my stories would exist if it weren't for her. shrk22 is kind of wonderful, too!

* * *

Serena dug her fingers into her aching neck, trying in vain to remove the crick that had formed sometime in the last four hours. Her phone had woken her just after eight o'clock this morning and it had been pressed against her ear ever since. It seemed the Rhodes, Van der Woodsens and Humphreys were circling the wagons, settling in for the long journey that lay ahead for Lily. Her mother's lawyers were scrambling to hammer out a deal, one where she would avoid time in prison.

As she descended the Waldorf staircase, delicious aromas permeated the air and she finally turned her thoughts to sustenance.

"Hey, B," she greeted the brunette as she approached the dining table.

"Serena!" Blair returned warmly, "I was just about to call you down for lunch. Come, sit." She graced the blonde with a sweet smile before opening her mouth to shrill,"Dorota!"

"You may serve," she decreed serenely a moment later when the faithful maid bustled in.

"I'm starving!" Serena enthused as she set about laying the serviette in her lap.

"I'm not surprised. You didn't come down for breakfast."

"I've been on the phone all morning," Serena sighed, leaning back in her chair.

"How is Lily? Is she okay?"

"I don't know. I mean, I think so. She's just worried...we all are. The lawyers are doing their best, but...she's facing up to ten years in prison."

"It won't come to that, S," Blair stated with conviction as she reached out to give Serena's hand a firm squeeze.

Serena returned the gesture with a grateful smile before the two girls fell into a comfortable silence.

"So," Blair ventured, "plans with Ben today?"

"Oh. No...," Serena trailed off a little awkwardly.

"Well, it's probably not the best time for you to be parading your parolee around," Blair quipped lightly.

"Actually, we broke up last night." When she spied the small furrow of Blair's brow, Serena released a long sigh. "He needs a fresh start, you know. And I'm...just a reminder of everything he's trying to put behind him."

Serena was somewhat relieved when Blair offered only a small, sympathetic smile in response. She had barely had a chance to reflect on the short-lived relationship and she wasn't sure she felt up to any kind of detailed post-mortem. Right now, more than anything, Serena wanted a distraction from the events of last night and the tangled history of Ben and her mother, not to mention the subsequent fallout that now lay at their door.

She turned to study her friend for a moment, still pondering the notion of fallout, when she hit upon the perfect distraction. The _other_ events of last night flashed through her mind in rapid succession: Chuck's ashen face as he practically stumbled down the stairs to the party, his desperate insistence that only Blair would understand, and _Blair's_ ashen face at the mention of Bart. Serena had gone to bed wondering what could possibly have happened in that meeting with Russell Thorpe. She had also been dreading the effect it may have on Blair, but, if anything, she appeared calm, collected, almost peaceful. And Serena was suddenly more curious than ever.

"So, did you talk to Chuck? What's going on? I mean, I thought he'd be happy that Bass Industries was finally free of Russell Thorpe."

"Russell Thorpe," Blair spat, venom coating each syllable, "is just getting started."

" _What_?" Serena questioned incredulously, her eyes growing wide. "There's _more_?" When Blair remained tight-lipped, violently spearing the artichoke hearts in her salad, Serena tried again. "And what does it have to do with Bart?"

Blair released her fork and finally turned her eyes to Serena. "I really can't say, S."

No one liked to be on the ground floor of a scandal more than Blair Waldorf. Well, Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass. They both reveled in the opportunity to cause some trouble, uncover a secret. But looking at Blair now, it was obvious she derived no joy or smug satisfaction in guarding this particular secret. While Blair's features had hardened, her lips pressed together in grim determination, Chuck's had appeared haunted, tortured.

Serena could barely remember a time when she hadn't known Chuck. There had been many times, in fact, when she had fervently wished she didn't know him at all. Serena found trouble at a young age, and for a while she was convinced trouble was determined to find _her_. But Chuck invited trouble, smiled widely as he beckoned it closer. There were very few taboos, boundaries or laws that Chuck hadn't willfully broken. Perhaps that was why everyone, including herself, turned to him when they found themselves out of their depth. Blair would always be there in the aftermath, wading through the debris with fresh towels and reassurances at the ready. But it was Chuck who performed the real clean up. And most of the time no one knew what that actually entailed. Chuck would simply announce that the problem had been "taken care of" and that was the end of it.

It was a fairly safe assumption that Chuck Bass had seen and done just about everything there was to see and do. And, maybe as a direct result of that, he didn't judge people. Serena may have been blindsided and a little hurt when Erik told her it was Chuck he had confided in about his sexuality, but she hadn't been all that surprised. In all likelihood, Erik wouldn't have even needed to broach the topic. Chuck, with his uncanny and unnerving ability to read others, would have simply known. And Erik, like the rest of the chosen few Chuck considered under his care, would have instinctively sensed that his secret was safe. Dan could never understand how Serena could be friends with people like Chuck and Blair, adamant that a lifelong association was not enough to excuse their reprehensible behavior. And Serena knew it would pointless to try to explain it to him. It wasn't just that Chuck was unflappable in a crisis, or that his considerable wealth and friends in high places could quickly remedy even the stickiest of situations. It was that he shouldered the burdens of others, quietly carried their load until they could walk tall again.

She wondered absently who had known when Chuck was facing a crisis. In all those years before Blair was by his side, who had he turned to? Or had Blair always been there? Serena had been reckless and oblivious long before the Shephard Wedding and Pete Fairman's overdose had driven her out of town. It was clear upon her return that Chuck and Blair had grown closer, that the preternatural connection and understanding that had always existed between them had intensified until it was a well-practiced dance, a kind of telepathic game of chess. With no more than a mere glance or nod, Chuck and Blair would move the players around the board with ease. And before anyone could object, before anyone was even aware a game was afoot, Queen would take Rook. And just like that, _checkmate_. Provided you weren't an unwitting pawn, Chuck and Blair's effortless calculation and coordinated precision was breathtaking to behold. When they joined forces, combined their power and were united in their cause, they were quite literally invincible. But their track record when playing alone was less impressive. And for all his resources and connections, Chuck had been ill-prepared for the battles he'd had to face in recent years. But how could any eighteen-year-old even begin to prepare for battle against his own family, his only living relatives? How could he have even seen it coming?

"First Bart dies, then Jack tries to take the company. Then Elizabeth. And now Russell Thorpe. I forget he's the same age as us sometimes," Serena said, continuing her train of thought aloud. She turned to Blair then, snapping out of her reverie. "Chuck, I mean. He's always fighting some battle."

Blair seemed to be focused on the floral centerpiece in front of her. And, almost as if the flowers had spoken to her, she nodded once before turning her eyes to Serena, a steely resolve now burning within their depths. "Chuck will win," was all Blair offered in response.

Serena had supported Blair in her quest to chuck Chuck, dutifully reminding her of the tightrope she was precariously perched on. And just yesterday Blair had said that if she and Chuck were meant to be that she was going trust that, wanting what was best for both of them in the meantime. Now it would appear that Chuck was preparing for battle once more. Whether right or wrong, Serena knew that meant Blair was preparing to fight alongside him. It might be a tightrope of a different nature, but if Chuck was alone on the other side, Blair would walk it. He wouldn't even have to ask. With her head poised and arms outstretched, Blair would simply place one foot in front of the other until she reached him. Serena could only hope there was a safety net, that this game of chess was one they were playing together. She could only pray that this time the King wouldn't sacrifice his Queen.

Serena watched as Blair's gaze, for the second time, settled on the floral centerpiece. And she wondered now how she hadn't noticed it earlier herself. The Waldorf women, Blair in particular, favored big, blowzy blooms that conformed to a soft palette - roses, peonies, hydrangeas, snapdragons. But the flowers on the dining table, while beautiful and artfully arranged, seemed a direct contravention of her standard fare.

"New florist, B?"

"Hmmm?" Blair replied distractedly, only just managing to drag her eyes from said arrangement.

"The flowers? I mean, they're gorgeous. But they're a bit...different from your usual."

Blair kept her mouth hidden behind her tall glass of sparkling water, but the smile in her eyes was on full display.

"They are, aren't they?" she finally responded.

* * *

Blair Waldorf, the dreamer.

Blair Waldorf, the schemer.

It was the chicken and the egg all over again. Which came first?

There's a strong case to be made for the former. I don't need to tell you about the scrapbook under her bed, do I? Page upon page of carefully constructed scenes and tableaus painstakingly committed to paper with the tools of a child? A veritable vision board before the term had even been coined. But Blair's scrapbook was merely the place where she gave life to her dreams. The dreams themselves were conceived somewhere else entirely.

It is a little known fact that tucked away in the east wing of the Waldorf penthouse is a room quite unlike the others. Walls paneled in Flemish oak, a large Aubusson rug of rich reds and greens taking centre stage, natural light streaming in via a bank of windows draped in racing green to match the bankers lamp that sat atop the stately desk owned by the sole male occupant of the Waldorf household. Harold's study, as he called it, was a decidedly masculine space. But for most of Blair's life it was a sacred place she felt more at home in than any other. Arriving home from school, Blair would race into the room, press a kiss to her father's cheek and demand a story. Hoisting her onto his hip, the pair would choose a book from the shelves that lined three of the room's four walls before curling up in the oversized arm chair together. Blair's eyes would grow round as she listened to tales of princes and princesses, dragons, wicked witches, evil stepmothers, and all manner of mythical beings and magical places.

As she grew older, Blair began to explore the literary world in earnest. She heartily devoured all the classics, of course, but her appetite for romance was positively voracious. And she no longer needed the illustrations she had lingered over as a child, for she had no trouble imagining herself in the role of heroine. She was adamant that she would one day be the princess, adored and revered by her people far and wide. And her beauty and grace would inspire the great and true love of a brave and noble man.

When Harold left, Blair had studiously avoided the library for months, his absence smarting like an open wound each time she stepped into the room. But, over time, the lure of Austen and du Maurier, Flaubert and Fitzgerald, Tolstoy and Wharton, had been a siren song her heart could not refuse.

Chuck Bass may not be a poet or wordsmith. But when he began to send Blair notes to accompany his flowers and gifts, she somehow knew that his words belonged here in this room that housed all her cherished tomes. Perhaps it was the romantic dreamer in her, but Blair reveled in the idea that their story together was littered around this room, nestled safely between the pages of her other favorite stories. That one day she would pull her copy of _Persuasion_ from the shelf to find one of Chuck's signature cards within, that she would get lost in her memories, the book she came for long forgotten.

She looked down at the card that had arrived this morning with the wildflower arrangement and read his words once more.

 _Peonies may be your favorite, but you're a wildflower, Waldorf. Whichever path you take to power, I know you'll thrive. Soon the world will see what I've always known - you're a force to be reckoned with._

 _Always,  
Chuck_

Despite immediately knowing that the flowers were from Chuck, Blair had been slightly taken aback. Serena was right - they _were_ different from her usual. But they were also gorgeous. She would always favor the full, delicate petals of the peony, but she couldn't deny the striking beauty of the wildflowers. Bright, vivid blues, vibrant reds and yellows - they were bold and impossible to ignore.

She had woken this morning feeling restored, a sense of calm purpose and focus settling within her. Despite the fact that nothing was resolved between them, that she was still no further along in her plan for world domination, Blair felt stronger, as though her presence in the world was somehow more solid. She had spent the better part of the morning researching Russell Thorpe, doing her due diligence, trying to identify his pressure points. And when Chuck's flowers arrived, her heart had skipped a beat knowing that he had spent his morning thinking about her, too. He had come to her last need because he needed her, and all those questions she'd pondered before he knocked on her door were now beginning to coalesce into a single irrepressible thought: maybe she needed him, too.

Her fingers skimmed idly and aimlessly along various book spines before they came to rest upon Sun Tzu's _The Art of War._ And just as she had intended when she first began to stow Chuck's notes in this room, she smiled to herself knowing what she would find inside. The book itself had been a gift from him on her twelfth birthday.

The party had been a resounding success, the red Waldorf original had flattered her blossoming body and garnered a great many compliments. Once the guests had finally left, Blair retired to her bedroom. Upon opening the door, however, she immediately spied the book on her bed. Even then she had known it was from Chuck. The upstairs had been cordoned off during the party, and only the devil himself possessed the kind of audacity required to flout Eleanor Waldorf's authority. Opening the book, she had found an inscription in his familiar scrawl on the inside cover.

 _B -_

 _No one is going to hand you the crown. You're going to have to take it. So are you brave enough or aren't you? You know where to find me should you need a plotting partner..._

 _\- C_

Noting the highlighted passages and handwritten notes in the margin, Blair had quickly realized that the well-worn book was Chuck's own beloved copy. She had read the book from cover to cover in a matter of hours, absorbed in its insights and strategies. And Chuck and Blair had indeed plotted together. In less than a fortnight she had claimed the throne for herself and the golden age of Queen B had begun.

Was that when they had started? Had all these seemingly inconsequential moments just been a progression of tiny tentative steps toward each other? The slow and steady shift from Chuck and Blair to _ChuckandBlair_? Had it all been inevitable just as Chuck had described them two years earlier?

It wasn't the first time she'd pondered these questions. It wasn't even the first time she'd pondered these questions in this very room. That had taken place over two years ago.

 _Three days before they were supposed to travel to Tuscany together, she wandered into the library, killing time before Chuck picked her up to take her shopping. Mere moments after he insisted that they "take it slow, do it right", they had begun to pull at each other's clothing. But she had understood his intention in the days that followed. He had been so attentive, so respectful and earnest in his efforts to make her feel special. The playful, teasing banter and the passionate desire that burned between them was still the same, but their time together was no longer stolen. And Blair was beginning to understand how it could have been, how it_ should _have been, from the very beginning._

 _She balanced easily on the third rung of the ladder. In her hands she held a copy of_ Indiana _, the first book Amantine Aurore Dupin published under her pseudonym George Sand. As she turned the page she could practically smell the hallowed halls of Yale, could almost taste the crowning triumph that would be her reign in New Haven. She felt drunk with power at the mere thought of all she would achieve there. The idea of finally conquering one of her heart's desires made her want -_

 _"Chuck," she breathed, as she looked up to see him draped against the doorway._

 _Bemusement and a hint of...something else coloured his features as he stepped into the room. He tilted his head in order to identify the book she was now clutching to her chest, and a smirk slowly stretched the corners of his mouth as his eyes found hers._

 _"No human creature can give orders to love," he said, the quote slipping from his lips as though plucked from thin air._

 _She bit her lip in an attempt to bite back her surprise. And it still surprised her sometimes, though she didn't know why. Chuck was easily the most intelligent person she knew. Behind all the disgusted scorn she had heaped on him over the years was despairing disappointment. The world could be his, should be his, if he wasn't so determined to play the ultimate ne'er-do-well. A master of illusion, he may have managed to fool the people at large, even his father. But not her. Never her._

 _She sighed contentedly as she watched him take a seat on her beloved armchair, looking for all intents and purposes like a king on his throne. His fingers steepled together against his lips as he openly studied her._

 _"I know that look," he drawled, as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's gotten into you?"_

 _She flashed him a wicked smile before divulging her plans for world domination._

 _"Each year, the Dean of Yale holds a private reception for the strongest prospective students," she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, as she slowly descended the ladder. "And each year he asks the same question."_

 _She stood before him now, leaning against the desk while he leaned forward in his chair. She did so enjoy the telling of a good tale. It was a forgotten art form, really - drawing the listener in, slipping the blindfold over their unsuspecting eyes, taking them by the hand to they knew not where until they were begging to see what was in store for them. There was something almost erotic about it. When Chuck licked his lips and raised an eyebrow, Blair knew she wasn't alone in that thought._

 _"Which person, real or imagined, living or dead, would you most like to have dinner with?" The words were spoken slowly and deliberately, each clause delivered in time to the placement of her knees, first one and then the other, on either side of his legs. Her hands slid across his chest before she started slowly working the buttons on his shirt._

 _"And you'd want to dine with a nineteenth century French novelist who liked to dress as a man?" he queried, his fingers sliding under her loosely-flowing silk skirt bringing it with them until it came to rest against the top of her thighs. Her thighs that were now beginning to quiver in anticipation._

 _"_ I _wouldn't, no," she responded breathily. "But the Dean would. She's his favorite author."_

 _His fingers were kneading her flesh now, his thumbs slipping to her inner thighs and lightly drawing circles there before they came to trace along the line of her underwear. But his eyes never left her face. Not once._

 _"Just imagine," she breathed, her fingernails lightly scraping his bare chest. "Two words, ten little letters scrawled on a slip of paper, and - "_

 _"Yale is yours," he managed to purr just before her lips crashed against his._

 _And then they were kissing hungrily, their hands roaming, fingers pressing and tearing at cloth, desperate to brand each other's bare flesh. His eyes burned black with desire and Blair marveled at the fire that roared between them. Chuck and Blair, predator and prey all at once. The moment she had seen him in the doorway that giddy thrill she had felt dreaming of Yale became an insistent drone of desire that pulsated through her. And now it was spilling over into a frenzied need for him. An itch only Chuck could scratch._

 _And scratch he did..._

 _She couldn't be sure how long she had dozed off for, but when her eyes fluttered open they looked directly into his. She felt his fingers dancing lightly up and down her spine, his other hand resting flat and warm over her heart. She was half naked in Chuck Bass' arms. She should have felt exposed. She_ did _feel exposed. But strangely, more than anything else, in that moment she felt safe. Because Chuck was exposed, too. His movements weren't greedy or lustful, they were soft and adoring. And as the haze of sleep began to clear from her eyes and as Chuck came into focus before her, so too did everything else._

 _All those years spent orbiting each other, that undeniable pull drawing them inexorably closer and closer until their inevitable collision. But it wasn't enough that they crashed into each other. Chuck demanded access to all of her. His question in the limo after Victrola and her answering kiss had been the turning of a handle. The days leading up to Cotillion where he wedged his foot determinedly in the door. And now, here in this room, she felt him fling that door wide open. The door to a space inside of her so well hidden she scarcely acknowledged its existence. And Chuck hadn't needed clues to find it._

 _They had both been stuck in a stereotype of their own making. Virtue and Vice. Saint and Sinner. Princess and Playboy. Delicacy and Debauchery. But as with all things, the truth lay somewhere in the middle. And when they met in the middle they were no longer Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf. They were simply Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck. They may be consummate liars, the both of them, but their truth together was undeniable. And maybe that truth could set them both free. In this room where they were surrounded by words, Blair felt for the first time in her life that the rest of her story was unwritten. Instead of feeling panicked or lost, she felt liberated, no longer constrained by their tightly defined roles and expectations. Perhaps they could write their story together._

 _Four days later she found herself alone in Tuscany. She waited for him. For three days she (im)patiently waited. And then the images began to surface on Gossip Girl - Chuck with two blondes at Butter, bikini-clad triplets bouncing around him in the Hamptons. She had felt brutally blindsided, utterly humiliated and completely confused. Nate had never wanted her, not really, that much had finally become clear. But Chuck... Could she really have been that mistaken? Had she completely misread him? Or had it all been some kind of cruel game, a joke at her expense? Either way she had refused to be played for a fool._

 _So, with James in tow, she arrived in the Hamptons intent on playing a game of her own. But when Chuck earnestly confessed his mistake in abandoning her and the fear that had prompted it, Blair immediately understood. Because she had been afraid, too. Afraid, but willing to take that leap with him. And when he couldn't (or wouldn't), when he'd stumbled over those three words, eight letters, she had walked away, refused to take that leap alone. It was too far to fall. She had naively thought that admitting their feelings would be the most difficult obstacle they would face. But it had only been the beginning._

Serena's words from earlier were floating around Blair like the dust motes her presence had stirred. Bart had died, leaving Chuck an orphan and an heir to a global empire. And before Chuck could take a breath, find his feet, he found himself wrestling Jack for control of the company. A year later, his uncle slithered out from under his rock to plot his nephew's downfall once again, this time bringing that raven-haired con artist with him. And now the ghosts from his father's past refused to be laid to rest. Barely twenty years of age and Chuck had faced more battles than most people do in a lifetime.

Blair looked again at _The Art of Wa_ r still held in her hands. She tucked it under her arm before she reached for another book. Smirking to herself, she pushed Louisa May Alcott's _Flower Fables_ back in its place a moment later, Chuck's note now tucked safely between its pages. _The Art of War_ , she decided, was needed elsewhere.

Placing it aside, she curled up in the armchair as she'd done so long ago with Chuck. Pulling her phone from her pocket, Blair pressed the 'one' on her speed dial. It would be rude, after all, not to acknowledge his thoughtful gift.

The sound of her name in his honeyed tone felt like a warm blanket wrapping around her a moment later.

"Blair."

Her lips curved and her eyes closed of their own accord.

"Hi."

* * *

 **AN** : I hope you enjoyed that. Next up will be a chat between Blair and Eleanor and a whole lotta Chuck.

Pretty please let me know what you thought by leaving me a review. It will make my day :)


	5. Chapter 5

**AN** : Um, hello? Anyone out there remember this story? I know, I can't quite believe it's been over a year myself. But I'm back! And I intend to finish this story. This was one of the hardest chapters to write - seriously, blame Chuck for that...but I finally finished it and I'm already looking forward to writing the next one.

Sincerest thanks, as always, goes to scarlett2u for her betaing skills and all-round loveliness. And shrk22 who often sends me Chuck and Blair articles and YouTube videos to kick my muse into gear.

Just a quick recap to save you all from reading the story from the beginning again - Chuck goes to see Blair after Russell Thorpe tells him that Bart was responsible for the death of his wife, Avery. Blair eventually lets him in and they talk about his father and her desire to be powerful on her own. Blair receives some lovely wild flowers from Chuck the next day and reminisces about their relationship and all that's transpired between them while in her library.

Without further ado, here's Chapter 5 of The Anguish of the Butterfly.

* * *

"Everything perfect, Miss Blair," Dorota proudly announced.

" _Miss Blair_ will decide when everything's perfect," Blair snapped haughtily.

With slow, measured steps, Blair circled the Waldorf dining room. Debussy's Preludes for Piano filtered through the speakers while the arrangement of freesias and blush hyacinth lightly perfumed the air. The fine bone china tea set was laid out on the gleaming surface of the dining table, steam rising invitingly from the pot's spout, and Eleanor's favorite florentines were arranged on a small silver tray. Blair's lips curved in a satisfied smile and she released an almost dreamy sigh as she clasped her hands together.

"Everything's perfect, Dorota."

"Yes, Miss Blair," Dorota responded with a roll of her eyes.

Everything was indeed perfect. Blair wore an aubergine Waldorf Original, one of the few pieces that garnered a soft and admiring smile from its designer. Despite being almost three years old, its bias cut and modest neckline were both flattering and timeless, and Blair had carefully paired the dress with black patterned stockings and Mary-Jane patent pumps. Her mother's flight from Paris had already landed and she was due to arrive any moment now. In an effort to tamp down her growing anxiety, Blair once again replayed her phone conversation with Chuck.

 _"Not that I can't imagine you as editrix of a fashion magazine," he drawled affectionately, "I'm just... surprised you didn't choose to intern with Waldorf Designs."_

 _"Mother was a little surprised, too, I think, but," she paused to heave a mournful sigh, "I'm not a designer."_

 _"Neither are half the CEOs of the most prominent fashion houses."_

 _"CEO?!" she laughed. "Have you_ met _my mother?"_

 _It was an altogether ridiculous notion. Eleanor Waldorf entrusting her precious company to Blair? Pried from the woman's lifeless hands on a cold day in hell was more like it, she thought with an eyeroll._

 _"Many times," came his dry response. "And I assume you remember my father," he added pointedly a moment later._

 _She bit her lip as she silently pondered his words. No one who had ever witnessed an exchange between father and son would have believed that Bart Bass wanted Chuck to assume an active role in Bass Industries, let alone that he'd leave him with controlling interest. And if Chuck had never read the notarized letter himself he would still be convinced it was some kind of twisted parting prank. Still, her mother was very much alive and well and as dedicated to Waldorf Designs as ever. But maybe..._

 _"Come on, Waldorf," Chuck pressed, "you don't think Eleanor dreamt that one day her only daughter would continue her legacy?"_

 _A small smile curved her lips as she settled against her headboard, suddenly flooded with memories of all the hours spent at the atelier during her childhood. Organizing fabric swatches, designing seating charts, signing for shipments, steaming sample dresses. Blair's pulse began to quicken at the possibility._

 _"Well," she began tentatively, "I_ was _her first dress form..."_

 _"She may have mentioned that once or twice," he replied sardonically._

 _A brief silence followed as Blair contemplated how the topic could be broached with her mother._ If _the topic should be broached at all. But Chuck's next words seemed to settle the decision in her mind._

 _"You said yourself that all the respectable, worthwhile internships have been filled. This way you'll get to learn more about the industry and can decide whether it's the direction you want to take."_

 _"I did dress the minions for years," she replied absently as a plan began to form in her mind._

 _"Exactly. It's only fitting that you'd one day dress the masses."_

She was roused from her thoughts by the ding of the elevator. Quickly squaring her shoulders and smoothing the invisible wrinkles on her dress, Blair arranged her features in an expression of innocent delight.

"Mother, you're home! You must be exhausted. Tea?"

Eleanor flung her coat and bag in the direction of Dorota's waiting arms as she moved to kiss the air next to Blair's cheek.

"Blair, darling, how are you?"

"I'm well, Mother," Blair trilled, as she hurried to pull out her mother's chair and pour the tea.

"Lapsang Souchong, my favourite," Eleanor sighed appreciatively. But her teacup froze in midair a moment later when she took in her surroundings. With another sigh, Eleanor turned to face her daughter, an arched eyebrow at the ready. "Out with it, Blair."

"Out with what, Mother?" Blair tilted her head, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"The tea, the florentines, the dress. Whatever it is, make it quick. Laurel's voice is getting sharper with each call which means there's something wrong with the samples."

"Well, maybe I could help out. At the atelier, I mean."

Both Eleanor's eyebrows raised at this.

"What happened with the magazine?"

"Well, I was promoted," Blair smiled triumphantly, "but managing a full time role with school became...untenable." The triumphant smile slipped somewhat but she barreled on before Eleanor could interject. "I learned a great deal , though, and I know I could be of value at Waldorf Designs. I'm a very hard worker and if you give me - "

"Fine, fine. We could certainly use the help right now," Eleanor responded with an exasperated wave of her hand. "But is this really what you want?"

"I know I'm not a designer, but fashion is art and culture and history and everything I love combined. And if I'm going to find my place in the industry then I need to learn as much as I can. And I want to learn from the best."

"Well," Eleanor finally replied, "I'm sure we can work around your school commitments."

"I have Monday, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons free, and of course nights and weekends. Whatever you need!"

"It's not a sweatshop, dear." Her tone was slightly offended, belied by the almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. "But I appreciate your enthusiasm."

Eleanor's phone rang a moment later and she began barking orders as she climbed the stairs. She paused at the top step, her hand covering the mouthpiece. "Call Laurel with your schedule, Blair. You'll start this week."

"Yes, Mother," Blair called out, a beaming smile splitting her face.

* * *

 _Powerful and persuasive_.

It had been two days since he had left Blair's bedroom but those three words had become Chuck's own personal earworm, sounding in his head on an endless loop. He had made a few phone calls, read the Financial Review, and briefed his security team on the new surveillance system set to be installed. But the moment his mind was idle he found himself, once again, staring up at the ceiling pondering those words. It was clear that Blair had meant them to be encouraging, that the words were intended as a compliment. And last year he had taken it as one. But now those three words called to mind only one thing. Or one person, rather. One person often described with that very same phrase.

People stood when Chuck's father entered a room, but make no mistake, Bart Bass was always the last man standing. Like blood in the water, he could smell weakness, and he preyed on it without hesitation. He cultivated relationships if the return was sufficiently favorable, but preferred a partnership where he was in complete control. Control, Bart Bass discovered, was best achieved via leverage. He made it his business to know everything there was to know about all those in play, and everyone but him was foolish enough to have an Achilles Heel. In the end there was nothing and no one he couldn't bend to his will. In the last years of his life, Bart enjoyed an unchallenged reign for one reason: there were simply no rivals or enemies left to foment opposition. They had been reduced to dust in his wake and the rest of the world had taken heed: oppose Bart Bass at your own peril. He was living proof that John Donne had been wrong, because Bart Bass was indeed an island. Remote. Unreachable. Alone. And despite his best efforts and all he'd said to the contrary, Chuck was proving to be his father's son in every way.

When Bart Bass died and left his business and his billions and to his son, Chuck had felt the world's eyes upon him. If possible, his father cast an even longer shadow dead than he did alive, and Chuck was desperate to escape it. He knew the comparisons were inevitable and, in some respects, possibly advantageous. After all, Chuck had inherited his father's ambition, killer instinct and poker face, all of which were invaluable in the business world. He had learned the art of negotiation and risk analysis from the best but he refused to be seen as a boy riding his father's coattails.

But when Elizabeth Fisher appeared with Jack waiting in the wings ready to strike, Chuck had operated exactly as his father would. How many times had he heard Bart remark that people come and go but that real estate was permanent? That if you weren't prepared to win at any cost then you had no business playing the game? And Chuck had played right into Jack's hands. The Empire had been his first foray into real estate, not as the son of Bart Bass or the scion of Bass Industries, but as a legitimate businessman in his own right. It was the symbol of his professional independence, of Blair's faith in him. In the end, the hotel remained his but everything it was supposed to represent was lost.

The sound of the elevator roused him from his rumination and he slipped on his shoes before leaving his bedroom.

"Sir, this just arrived for you."

"Thank you, Jacob," Chuck responded as he took the proffered package.

Returning to his bedroom once more, Chuck cautiously lifted the lid from the black gift box. Russell Thorpe reveled in the long game, and whatever was inside could be just the first of a series of taunts designed to twist his opponent into torturous knots. But the moment he spied the purple tissue paper, Chuck instinctively knew it was a gift from Blair. A book was nestled amongst the paper, a book he hadn't seen for years. He smiled as he lifted _The Art of War_ from the box and settled against his pillows. Inside the front cover he saw the inscription he'd written for Blair's birthday all those years ago, smiling as he remembered their many heated discussions about which stratagem to apply to which target. Below his original inscription were a few new words written in Blair's hand.

 _Same to you, Bass._

 _Always,_

 _B xo_

Chuck didn't want to contemplate the state he might be in right now had she not opened her door to him the night before last. And that was it in a nutshell. Without Blair, he fell apart; lost himself in a morass of self-loathing, desperation and depression. When his father died, when Jack took Bass Industries, when he signed over The Empire to Elizabeth. Blair had wanted to be by his side through all of it but he'd pushed her away. When he'd needed to win he'd manipulated her, used her as though she were nothing more than an expendable pawn. And now it was happening all over again.

Russell Thorpe was poised to strike, and Chuck was backed into a corner with nowhere to go. Blair said she would be there for him, and he believed her. Only now he wasn't so sure that was a good thing. He loved her more than he thought possible, more than anything, more than himself. But if past behavior was the best predictor of future behavior then he was bound to once more hurt in the worst way. He would lose her all over again. And nothing hurt more than losing Blair.

She had told him once that he carried people, that he carried her. He wanted to be that man. But the truth was he couldn't even carry himself. Not when it mattered, at least. Not when he needed to. And if Chuck couldn't find a way to break the pattern he was destined to become exactly like his father.

Remote.

Unreachable.

Alone.

Not just an island, but a wasteland.

He had no idea where to start or even _how_ to start. And, for possibly the first time in his life, Chuck Bass knew he couldn't do it on his own.

* * *

After finalizing her timetable with Laurel, Blair had drawn up a schedule that accounted for every waking moment of her life. Between Columbia, Waldorf Designs and study, she was going to be busier than ever. With no time to waste she'd pulled out her textbooks to get ahead of her assigned reading for class but after reading the same paragraph for the fourth time she finally gave in and called Chuck. She wanted to share her good news, of course, but she also wanted to see if there had been any development with Russell Thorpe. Chuck had assured her he'd let her know if there was but she knew it must be consuming his thoughts. He could probably use the distraction, she justified.

There was nothing new on that front, it turned out. Andrew Tyler had his brief but it would most likely be a few days before he submitted his findings. So they had chatted about Waldorf Designs and Lily's impending sentence.

How they had gone from that to discussing her bulimia, Blair didn't quite know. She hadn't relapsed in several years and she was quick to assure him of that.

"I know," he said quietly. "But why did you start doing it?"

She paused in thought for a moment. In truth, Blair had never discussed her reasons with anyone other than Dr. Sherman. Very few people were even aware the problem existed and those that did were careful not to mention it. It was hardly surprising, in retrospect, that Chuck was the first to discover her secret.

 _The Waldorf residence was swarming with Blair's Constance Billard and St. Judes classmates. Eighth Grade would commence in a few days and the mood was festive as the teenagers shared their summer adventures and the adults relished the thought that said teenagers would soon be the teachers' problem to take care of. All her hours of planning had paid off and she found herself actually relaxing and enjoying the fruits of her labor for once._

 _At the center of the room stood an impressive Champagne tower, beautifully offset by the equally imposing croquembouche. Kati and Is were dutifully fawning over Blair's exclusive Peter Pilotto dress and Vivier pumps but Penelope's annoyed huff and sour expression soon caught her attention. She followed the girl's gaze to find Nate twirling a laughing Serena in circles, her blond hair streaming around her face as Nate's eyes twinkled enchantedly. Blair's joyful mood came to a screaming halt. This was the fourth time he'd left her side tonight only to be at Serena's a moment later. And why was it that he was a combination of bored, awkward and stoned with Blair but attentive and animated with Serena? They had been officially dating for almost five months now, so why had nothing changed? It was_ supposed _to change. Blair plucked a profiterole from the croquembouche and attempted a ladylike bite as she silently seethed. The cream and spun sugar exploded in her mouth and she swallowed the confection along with her bitterness. Four more made their way to her plate before she made her way to the stairs, her steps faltering for a moment as she felt a pair of eyes on her. Those eyes slowly trailed her body before coming to rest on the plate in her hands. Blair felt the prick of tears behind her own eyes as she met her mother's reproachful gaze and held it defiantly before placing a whole profiterole in her mouth and turning on her heel._

 _When the shaking in her limbs finally subsided, she left her bathroom intent on fixing her appearance before she joined the party once more. It wasn't Chuck's presence in her bedroom that caught her off guard - she had become used to him being precisely where she didn't want him - it was the look on his face. Although her vision was still somewhat blurred from tears of exertion and shame, his expression was unmistakably clear. He stood before her, fists clenched at his side, nostrils flared. Blair realized then without a doubt that Chuck already_ knew _, that he hadn't just happened to stumble upon her as she left the bathroom._

 _Fury rolled off him in waves. Fury and something she couldn't put her finger on, something entirely foreign on his visage. And his voice when he spoke was soft, lethal._

 _"What the hell are you doing, Blair?"_

 _She was completely unprepared for a confrontation; physically weakened and emotionally drained. But she was a Waldorf and she wouldn't go down without a fight._

 _"I..it's none of your business, Chuck," she lifted her chin, trying in vain to compensate for her hoarse and shaky speech. "It's nothing. What are you even doing up here?"_

 _"It's nothing? Really?" It was a whispered sneer and Blair swallowed as he stepped closer, his eyes burning into hers. "Let's make a game of it then, share the fun. I'll stick my finger down your throat and Nate and Serena can take turns holding back your hair."_

 _Panic and dread churned in her empty stomach at his threat, and Blair knew better than anyone that Chuck always followed through. She grasped at his forearm desperately as she gazed up at him, her eyes wide and beseeching._

 _"Chuck, really, it's nothing...I didn't mean...it's under control, I swear."_

 _His chest heaved as his eyes searched her face and she could feel the tautness of his muscles beneath the sleeve she was still clutching. Blair realized the emotion she hadn't been able to name earlier, the one that looked so out of place on his languid, feline features was fear. Chuck was like a coiled spring and Blair was not enjoying the suspense._

 _"Chuck, don't...you can't tell anyone._ Please _." The word tasted sour in her mouth but she'd never meant it more._

 _It felt like forever that they stood there, eyes locked, her hand on his arm, his jaw clenched. He opened his mouth and she waited for the blow - a parting shot, another threat, an ultimatum. But it never came. With one last look he stormed away._

At some point not long afterwards Chuck had drawn Serena's attention to Blair's habit and the two became silent watchdogs, scrutinizing her every move. But it was her other watchdog, Dorota, who finally blew the whistle. Blair had tried to divide and conquer but, in a rare turn of events, Harold and Eleanor were firmly ranged on the same side.

"Mother was always making comments about my weight, watching everything I ate, comparing me to Serena. But...it was more than that, more complicated than that. I didn't even really understand why I was doing it...just that it made me feel better."

"And therapy helped?"

"I don't know if I could have stopped without Dr. Sherman. I mean," she laughed, "I hated going at first, barely spoke a word in our first two sessions, other than to assure him I wouldn't be returning. I pleaded with Daddy not to make me go back. It was the first time he ever said no to me," she pouted.

"But you kept going," Chuck prompted.

"Serena came with me to every appointment and waited until I was done. That helped," she fondly recalled. A soft smile graced her lips as she remembered something else. "And you...you helped. On the steps that day."

"You remember that?"

"Of course I do."

It was six years ago, another lifetime for all intents and purposes, and Blair could honestly say she'd barely thought of it since. But closing her eyes now she could recall every moment in vivid detail.

 _Her fingers were growing numb in the cool afternoon of late Autumn. Serena would be along shortly and they'd once again make their way to Dr. Sherman's office. Blair had carefully plotted and subsequently dismissed seven different plans to avoid the session but in the end her Grace Kelly prevailed. If she pushed back too hard she would end up involuntarily committed at the Ofstroff Centre or its equivalent in some anonymous backwater. No, she would play the game, appear obedient and contrite until the powers that be were satisfied she was 'cured'. And the sooner the better, as far as she was concerned - she had matters of much greater importance on her mind. Rumor had it that Beatrice Stansbury was days away from staging a coup. It would be her first real power struggle as Queen of Constance, and Beatrice was a worthy adversary. If Blair lost, it was over. For good. If people knew she could be defeated then she was no longer a winner. And no one followed losers._

 _She checked the time again as she rubbed her hands together for warmth before turning up the collar on her coat. Footsteps sounded behind her but they were too slow, too deliberate to be Serena's. When he sat on the step directly behind her, she knew exactly who it was._

 _"I'm not in the mood, Chuck," she bit out._

 _"Neither am I."_

 _The urge to turn around in that moment was overwhelming. There was no hint of teasing, no playful undertone, no signature drawl. Chuck sounded almost as put out at being in her presence as she was at being in his. Without seeing his face Blair couldn't read him, couldn't decipher his motive or strategy. But she continued to look straight ahead, and something told her he was grateful for that._

 _"You know about Beatrice," were Chuck's next words, his tone still stern._

 _It wasn't a question, at least not the way he'd phrased it, but Blair found herself nodding anyway._

 _Several long moments passed without a word and Blair's curiosity was quickly turning to irritation. It was as she was about to demand answers that she felt him lean forward ever so slightly, the warmth of his breath tickling her ear._

 _"A queen at war needs her strength if she's going to face down her detractors and destroy her enemies. A queen uses every possible resource to secure her throne, deter opposition. Dr. Sherman is just one more weapon in your arsenal. Use it."_

 _She blinked, suddenly at a loss as to how to respond. A moot point, apparently, because Chuck was already making his way down the steps to his waiting limo. He didn't look at her once. It dawned on her then that he couldn't get away from her fast enough._

 _Blair didn't puzzle over the odd interaction for long, though. His words were reverberating in her head, the truth behind them undeniable. She was going into battle and she needed to be in fighting form. She could keep denying that she had a problem, pretending that she was in control, or she could turn her face to it and find a way to win._

 _"Hey, B!" Serena chirped as she plonked down beside Blair. "Oh, my God, I've got to show you this note Matt Jennings left in my locker. I can't decide whether it's kind of sweet or kind of creepy," she babbled as she started rummaging through her bag._

 _"Show me on the way, S," Blair replied as she pulled her friend to her feet. "I don't want to be late."_

 _As the girls linked arms and descended the steps, Blair couldn't fight the smile that tugged at her lips._

 _Beatrice Stansbury had no idea who she was dealing with._

Blair turned her mind to the current conversation once again, her brow furrowed as a thought began to occur to her. Not that she was uncomfortable discussing her disorder with Chuck, but he seemed more interested in her recovery than the actual problem itself. There was only one plausible, albeit far fetched, reason for this that Blair could conceive of.

"Chuck? Are you...are you thinking about...talking...to someone?" she finally asked. Inquisitive, not incredulous.

Blair took his silence as confirmation.

"Because of what Russell Thorpe told you? Chuck, you don't know if that's even true," she reasoned gently.

"That's the point, though," he finally spoke. His voice was low, unsure, as though sharing a long held secret. "I don't know anything about my father. And most of what I thought I knew turned out to be lies. He's...gone. I want my own legacy, not his. But if I can't find a way to let him go, then I'm just...the worst of history repeating itself."

"Chuck -"

"I don't want to be stuck there anymore," he continued, mournful and plaintive all at once. "In the past, chasing a ghost...making the worst mistakes...choosing the wrong things...blaming everyone else."

Blair felt a lump form in her throat at the pain in his voice, at her own pain from a year ago. She heard his shaky inhalation down the line and knew he wasn't finished.

"What I did...it was unforgivable. I treated you like property," he choked, "like something I owned. I'm so sorry, Blair."

A single tear escaped as she closed her eyes, and she felt something loosen, unfurl inside her chest. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much she had needed to hear those words from him.

"Thank you," she whispered sincerely.

* * *

So, there you have it. As I said, this was one of the hardest chapters to write. I really hope you enjoyed it but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback whatever the case may be. In other words, I'd be thrilled if you took the time to review.


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